


Run

by nothingwrongwiththerain



Series: Run/Walk/Crawl... [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, No Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, maybe later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwrongwiththerain/pseuds/nothingwrongwiththerain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1940s. Steve is no stranger to starting a fight he can't finish - but Bucky is always there to back him up. No matter the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run

Bucky should have known better than to agree to meet Steve at the industrial edge of town. Sure, the diner was closer to where he worked, saving him a long walk alone – but it was exactly the wrong part of New York for someone Steve’s size with Steve’s moral conviction. 

The clattering of trashcans could have been a stray cat, wandering around in search of scraps. Bucky paused, uncomfortably aware of the quiet this end of the factory district. No crowds here, just men putting in long hours and grumbling about conscription. He’d met a few draft dodgers, old friends with new names. Exactly the kind of thing Steve would be indignant about. 

Angling away from the lights of the diner, shining in the late afternoon haze, Bucky listened harder. A scuffling of newspaper came from the closest alley, a thick smack and muffled thump. Starving animals didn’t make that much noise. Steve did. Bucky picked up his pace, rounding the corner of a crumbling brick building. 

Halfway down the shadow laced road dividing the aging, abandoned structures was a distressingly familiar sight. Somebody larger was hauling somebody much smaller up by the collar of his shirt. Bucky broke into a run as Steve’s feet left the ground. Bucky closed half the distance between them as Steve’s assailant drew his arm back and hit Steve with enough force to snap his head back before dropping him. Steve hit the ground, crumpling soundlessly. 

The closer Bucky got, the more certain he was that Steve’s stupidity had reacted a whole new level. From further away, the size difference was comical – it always was – but as Bucky approached, it became abundantly clear the larger man wasn’t just bigger than Steve. He was larger than Bucky. 

Steve had struggled up to his hands and knees despite Bucky’s silent prayers – staydownstaydownstaydown – resulting in a vicious kick to the ribs before Bucky could throw himself into a tackle. The guy was preparing to kick Steve again, Bucky caught him off balance, using all the forward momentum he could. 

The guy toppled, smacking his head against the wall on the way down. Bucky ended up more or less on his chest. Bucky wasted no time scrambling up so he could pound this jerks face into the street. Body blows were pointless anyways; he needed this guy out if he wanted to get Steve out of here. 

The guy was too surprised to protect himself properly. He tried to roll over, Bucky planted a knee in his stomach. There was a flash of silver in Bucky’s peripheral; he batted it away without really registering the flicker of pain. 

Eventually, the guy ceased his struggling. Bucky stopped, out of breath, knuckles bloodied, hands throbbing as he pushed himself up. If Steve wasn’t dead already, he was going to kill him. This was getting downright ridiculous. And risky. 

Any animosity Bucky was prepared to harbor predictably vanished once he got a closer look at Steve. Stumbling over, Bucky dropped down next to the smaller man. Back up on his hands and knees, Steve was shaking his head, eyes skewed shut.

“We’re good” Bucky said, catching his breath, “No problem. Glad we got that over with. Think you can take a break for a few days?” Bucky feel into an easy smile, resting a hand on Steve’s bony shoulder, tracing circles with his thumb.

“Come on, let me see” Bucky said softly, reaching out to tilt Steve chin up. 

Steve, rarely incompliant with Bucky’s insistence, continued to shake his head, mouth working furiously. Between gasps, Bucky could hardly make out Steve’s words. 

“Go,” Steve said breathily, “Wasn’t…alone” 

From further away, back on the street, a door slammed. Rowdy conversation spilled out, cutting through the cooling air. 

Shit. Bucky didn’t have time to think anything else, wasn’t any time to waste as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing Steve and pulling him up by the back of his jacket. When they were kids, Bucky could scare off a group of bullies, no problem. But their world had changed, taking down one wasn’t a warning anymore, it was a challenge.   
There simply wasn’t time for anything else; distance was the only factor Bucky’s skyrocketing heart rate could appreciate. Latching onto Steve’s arm, Bucky tore down the street with Steve in tow, thinking maybe, just maybe they could get out of sight before– 

“Hey! YOU.” The rough shout was not friendly. Bucky knew better than to glance behind. He did anyways. The added knowledge they were being pursued by at least four men, large enough to clog the alleyway with their combined bulk was a spike of adrenaline, a surge of pure motivation to run faster. 

They made it to another street, deserted, unhelpfully silent. Bucky didn’t dare slow, dragging Steve along full speed and hoping desperately neither of them tripped. He turned down an adjacent street quickly, knowing outrunning this kind of trouble wasn’t feasible with Steve lagging behind. He yanked Steve around another trash littered, hollowed out building and pulled up short. Dead end. 

Bucky dropped Steve’s arm, panting, trying to comprehend the enormity of his mistake. Behind them, voices shouting, splitting up to cover more ground. Bucky had to think, had to figure out something. 

Bucky looked around frantically. The fire escape was too high, trashcans to obvious, windows weren’t broken, the crash would draw attention, the door – the door – the door was prefect. Bucky dashed over, tested the lock with his shoulder and stepped back. The first kick nearly sent him sprawling. The second jarred his ankle but sent the door swinging on its weather frame. 

Turning back to Steve who was bent double, hands clutching his thighs, Bucky didn’t waste their precious time. Footsteps were closer, not far at all. Wrapping his arms around Steve from behind, under Steve’s shoulders and around his chest, Bucky hauled him inside. 

They couldn’t hide properly, voices shouting, much too near. Bucky dropped backwards, forcing Steve to land on top of him with a thunk.They landed beneath a grimy cracked window, bruising Bucky’s tailbone, tucked against a shadow. 

Holding Steve tight to his chest, trying to be so perfectly still, Bucky could feel every tremor wracking Steve’s thin frame. Silence hissed in his ears, Bucky tried to focus beyond the pounding in his skull, snaking an arm free to press a hand over his mouth, quiet his messy breathing. 

Outside, a conversation between two men was grunted back and forth – where could they have gone, how should he know, did you see Marco’s face? With Steve’s head on his chest, Bucky felt Steve rock forward minutely, knew a second before it happened Steve’s coughing was going to reveal their hiding place. 

So Bucky did something he’d never done before when Steve was having an asthma attack. He planted his free hand over the lower half of his face, covering his mouth securely. 

Outside, the conversation continued. A shadow passed the filthy glass. 

Steve was trying. His lips were clamped shut, he pressed his face against Bucky’s sweaty palm. But Steve’s nose was clogged with blood, throat tightening with every passing fraction of a second. His lungs were burning any illusion of control, nothing else was of any consequence: he could not breathe. 

Steve’s first convulsion caught Bucky off guard. Bucky nearly lost his grip before looping his legs over Steve’s pressing him against the wood paneled floor. A blurry outline passed the window again – the conversation in the alley had veered onto the topic of what each man would do when they caught up with those assholes – Steve was prying at Bucky’s hand, working on loosening Bucky’s hold with shaking fingers. Bucky couldn’t, but he had to. Tugging Steve’s head back against his chest Bucky held on for everything he had, breathing air as lightly as possible through his nose, if Steve could just hold on for a little while longer…

Steve went limp about 30 seconds before the men outside left, blundering off to rejoin their gang. Bucky moved his hand the moment their footsteps faded. Guilt and fear was lancing through him, settling right in his gut, contorting his insides. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Bucky muttered into Steve’s hair, releasing his death grip on the smaller man, cradling his lolling head. Steve fought him right up to the point of unconsciousness, twisting and straining. Then it all stopped. To Bucky, terrified at the hurt he was inflicting, the abrupt stillness was worse than Steve’s attempt to push him off. 

“Come on Steve,” Bucky whispered, resting his hand lightly on Steve’s throat, panic clawing at his mind. 

With his own heartbeat thrumming in his head, it took Bucky a few moments to separate himself, to focus. The pulse was there, thready and weak, but there. Bucky let out a noise somewhere between a choke and a sob. He would never, ever do that again. He would stash Steve and fight off anybody with a problem before he did that again.   
Bucky looked down at Steve, held lightly against him, sprawled out. God, he did that, he hurt Steve when he was already in pain, felt him struggle, unable to push Bucky away because Bucky wouldn’t let him. 

Bucky swallowed, hard. He had to live with that. Steve might forgive him, but he’d be damned if he was going to forgive himself. 

It was dark, but Bucky’s eyes had plenty of time to adjust. He did his once over on Steve, what he didn’t have time for earlier. Steve had a split lip, dark line gleaming and wet.   
Dried blood was splattered under his nose, but it didn’t look broken. Neither eye was swelling up, thankfully. 

From there, Bucky began carefully running his hands over Steve, feeling for rips in his clothes. This wasn’t a typical fight behind a movie theater, directly off a crowded street of witnesses. Bucky didn’t expect people out here to follow the same rules. Everything seemed all right though, generating a few ripples of relief. He knew Steve’s body well, as well as Steve knew his. 

The rise and fall of Steve’s chest, head tucked against Bucky’s chest was familiar, how they’d fallen asleep for the last year at least. Except sleeping wasn’t his fault, and the wooden floor was a lot less comfortable than their bed, as thin as the mattress was. 

Bucky waited a few more minutes, guilt dripping steadily, until he couldn’t take it. The stillness was too much. 

Pulling Steve upright, Bucky propped him up against the wall gently. Holding Steve’s face in his hands, Bucky tried not to sound too desperate. 

“Hey, Steve, buddy,” His throat was rough “Come on Steve” Bucky repeated, hands ghosting over his battered face. 

Finally Steve shuddered beneath his touch, followed immediately by the inevitable bout of coughing. Bucky held tight to his shoulders, crouching in front of him as Steve wheezed and gasped and tried to fold in half. To Bucky, it felt like the attack lasted longer than usual. Steve was too far removed from his fragmented hold on reality to judge. 

Steve came back to himself slowly, deepening his breaths. Bucky felt heartsick. The relief of Steve waking up was distorted by concern that this wouldn’t stop on its own, that he broke the most important part of his life. They sat in the dark for a while. Bucky watching. Steve putting the last few minutes back in place. 

“Hey” Steve said hoarsely, pushing back some of the tension Bucky was projecting. Bucky tried to smile, but there were tears prickling at the edge of his eyes. God, Bucky thought, he was a mess. Bucky ducked his head, avoiding eye contact. 

“Hey” Steve repeated sounding concerned. As if he did something wrong. “S’okay. I’m fine.” 

Bucky nodded, glancing up at Steve. The smaller man had worry stamped all over his face, distressed in spite of his injuries. “You okay?” Steve asked, persistent. 

Bucky took a deep breath, ground himself. He’d developed the habit of holding his breath whenever Steve was struggling to breathe. Not the most helpful quirk. 

“Yah Steve, I’m okay”

“Oh” Steve said, vaguely surprised, “Good.” They lapsed back into silence. 

“Think we should head home?” Steve asked, still a bit uncertain. He tilted his head to the side, reaching a hand up tentatively to touch the larger mans face. “I’m really okay Buck” 

“Alright” Bucky said, leaning into Steve’s touch, eyes fluttering. Suddenly, he felt heavy, the night was already impossibly long and he just wanted to be home. Get themselves cleaned up or just fall asleep in a tangle and sleep through tomorrow. No way in hell he was going to work. 

Grunting, Bucky worked his way to standing. There was a clatter, followed by an unexpected rush of dizziness. Bucky stumbled, colliding heavily against the wall adjacent to Steve’s. His shoulder screamed in protest. 

“Bucky?” Steve sounded alarmed; Bucky was blinking through the haze, trying to put things together. Staring at the ground, he saw something bright on the floor, gleaming and stained. When he first found Steve, that guy, the flash of silver. The guy had a knife and Bucky hadn’t been all that attentive. Was busy running away, didn’t have time to account for that little flare of pain. Hadn’t been a bother. 

Bucky slid down the wall, knees unexpectedly weak. 

“Ow” Bucky spoke matter-a-factly, keenly aware of the situation. He’d been stabbed, but not properly. The knife broke the skin, then stayed put, keeping him from leaking. Standing must have dislodged the blade. This kind of thing wasn’t unheard of; knife fights were a blur, sometimes people made it away. But they didn’t make it far. 

“Let me see” Steve said, wincing as he inched closer. 

“S’fine” Bucky said, hissing between clenched teeth. Steve paused, giving him a look of profound skepticism. “Fine” Bucky conceded. 

Hardly defeated, Bucky huffed out a few more breaths before twisting around, turning his back to Steve for inspection. Bucky felt heat gathering near the base of his shoulder, kept his movements slow. He tried and failed to suppress a shiver when something, probably not sweat, trickled down the back of his arm. 

Steve was next to him, features skewed up in concentration. Bucky leaned in to give Steve a better view, regretting his adjustment instantly as a fresh spike of pain tore through him. 

Steve sighed somewhat theatrically. “You might want to mention things like this a littler sooner, Buck” 

“Right” Bucky said, “Is that before or after I save your scrawny ass?”

“Before you try to stand,” Steve said flatly “You need stitches” 

“Nothing you haven’t done before”

“We need to make it home first” Steve snapped. They were both on edge, drained, and unwilling to admit they might be in any kind of trouble. 

“We’ll make it back” Bucky said.

“How?”

“Slowly?” Bucky offered. 

Laughing hurt, but Steve chucked regardless. “Always the optimist, Bucky” 

“Yah well,” Bucky said, starting the process of standing over again, “what can I say? Watching you is inspirational.” 

“Wait” Steve grabbed at Bucky’s sleeve before he could get far. “You’re still bleeding, a little bit. Should wrap that up.” 

“You say so,” Bucky said. “You got a first aid kit in there somewhere? Though that’s not a bad idea, all things considered–”

“Shut up” Steve said, wiggling out of suit jacket. It was too big for him, all of them were. Working on a seam already tearing – from age or the latest struggle, Steve couldn’t tell –   
he ripped off one of the sleeves. 

“Bossy Punk” Bucky muttered, watching Steve work. The smaller man was slow, methodical in the destruction of his wardrobe. Steve, who refused to acknowledge his limits to the point Bucky questioned his survival instinct, was eerily focused when it came to patching Bucky up. 

Bucky had seen Steve like this before; drawing in his notepad, reading, and the few times he’d stitched Bucky’s skin. One accident, one brawl, and one time a mix of both – they couldn’t afford the hospital – each time Steve took over. Realigned the skin, used his black thread with quick careful strokes. Hurt like hell, but didn’t take long. 

Make shift bandage in place, looped and looped around his upper arm and shoulder, Bucky succeeded in getting his feet under him. He was achy and uncomfortable, and his ankle was throbbing from when he kicked the door in, but he was definitely staying upright. 

He wanted to help Steve, but the smaller man kept insisting that would only aggravate Bucky’s shoulder. Watching Steve clumsily fight up a few inches at a time didn’t last. Bucky preferred physical pain to watching. Stepping up, Bucky grabbed Steve and tugged him the rest of the way with his good arm. Didn’t help the nausea, but shut up some of the screaming in Bucky’s mind. Besides, blood loss was a reliable timer. He would get back or go down on the way. 

Out the door and back into the streets. Steve was a little lost; Bucky got them pointed in the right direction. Bucky put it around 4 in the morning by the time they reached their street. Breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, both men pulled up short at the base of the stairs. The final obstacle loomed, but resting every few steps got them up eventually. 

Bucky ploughed into the bed with a low moan of joy. Burying his face in one of their thin pillows, he considered abandoning consciousness altogether. The Steve was there, barely any weight on his side of the bed, bossing him around as he dug through his sewing kit. Steve had already washed the blood off his face, underneath the blood bruises were already darkening impressively. 

Bucky sat up ungracefully. Trying to follow instructions, he attempted to pull his shirt off. Didn’t happen. Ended up tangled and in pain. His grumbling got Steve’s attention. 

“Hold still” Steve ordered, settling on his knees and working the soaking material off one shoulder after loosening the makeshift bandage. Partially freed, the shirt hanging off Bucky was clearly ruined, ripped and stained beyond salvation. 

Steve ran his hand lightly over Bucky’s exposed shoulder, tracing the indents in the muscle. Bucky sighed, humming in the back of his throat. Steve paused, then caught a hold of the material to free Bucky from the shirt entirely. 

On an impulse, Bucky twisted around, resting on his hip. Catching Steve’s face in his hands, he kissed him lightly, mindful of his split lip. Steve hesitated, hands fluttering before leaning in to catch Bucky’s mouth more completely, a soft whine catching in the back of his throat. After the chaos of the evening Steve wanted nothing more than to get lost in this, could tell by the way Bucky was being so careful, so gentle, that he needed this too.

But Bucky was bleeding and Steve’s attention was beginning to waver. Steve pulled back reluctantly. Bucky was quiet, taking Steve in with dark, sad eyes. 

“Bucky…” Steve said, trying to think of something that would lessen his look of dejection. “I’m sorry. I have’ta patch you up” Steve paused “Just let me do this first” 

“I didn’t mean to” Bucky spoke softly, voice barely traveling the distance between them. 

“Don’t think anybody means to get stabbed” Steve said

“That’s not– I didn’t mean– with you–” Bucky stammered, features twisting, upset.

“Oh, Bucky, no, it’s okay” Steve said soothingly, picking up on what was bother him. “I’m not mad or anything. I don’t care. You had to.”

“But I shouldn’t have” Bucky said weakly “I couldn’t think, I couldn’t, I just–”

This time, Steve closed the gap between them. Bringing his face close, Steve nudged Bucky gently, breath hot on his cheek as Bucky’s rambling came to a halt. 

Placing his hands cautiously on Bucky’s shoulders, Steve pressed in for a kiss before Bucky could gather his thoughts. Running a hand though Bucky’s hair, Steve gave Bucky room to move as Bucky left a trail of kisses along the least damaged part of his face. 

Reaching blindly, Steve found Bucky’s hands and pulled them close, tugging him in. Bucky’s hands tightened on the thin fabric of Steve’s shirt, clutching tightly as he kissed Steve soundly. It hurt a little, but Steve kept a lid on his discomfort, attending entirely to the way he could trade breaths with Bucky, how their mouths fit together. How Bucky wasn’t touching him like he was about to shatter anymore. 

They knew it wasn’t going anywhere, couldn’t last after that night. Steve felt the slouch In Bucky’s posture, though the grip Bucky had on his shirt didn’t lessen. Steve slipped to the side, nuzzling against Bucky’s neck, felt Bucky’s breath hitch minutely. 

“I’m okay Buck” Steve said, lips tracing words against Bucky’s skin. “I trust you. You didn’t hurt me” Steve felt the grip on his shirt impossibly clench more.   
Steve lifted his head, catching Bucky’s gaze and holding it. Bucky’s eyes were wide and pleading and haunted, dark circles filling in underneath, hair mussed. 

“I love you” Steve said simply. Steve’s words had the desired effect. Some of the tension left Bucky, features softening. 

“Yah” Bucky replied shakily. 

“Honest” Steve said, smirking a little at Bucky’s loss for words. Of all the things Steve loved Bucky for, this was one of his favorites. Bucky was consistently amazed Steve would admit to loving him, when Bucky hadn’t managed to say it back. As if Steve would use his discomfort against him, hold him up to some unspoken standard.

But Steve didn’t need to hear Bucky say those words. Saying a sting of words wasn’t important. Bucky couldn’t put a label on it, had too many feelings mixed up and in conflict, and Steve understood. Didn’t stop Steve from sharing his truth, and Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Now” Steve said, quiet and firm, “you have to let me sew up your shoulder” 

“Yah” Bucky conceded, blinking slowly. He let go of Steve’s shirt gradually, glancing from his hands to Steve’s face. Scooting forward, he stole a final, chaste kiss, before shifting around to face out the window. 

Still a little pink from the kiss, Steve set about gathering his sewing materials. The sky outside was already colored by the impending sunrise, Steve had enough light to thread the needle on his second try. He crawled off the bed and snagged a washcloth, dampening it in the sink before returning to Bucky. 

“Hold still” Steve said. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, trying to prepare. Steve ran the wet cloth over the gash, a series of sharp jolts shot though his shoulder and down his arm, causing him to gasp. The pain had numbed steadily since they left the industrial district, Bucky was uncomfortably aware of how little attention he’d paid to his injury. This was going to hurt. 

Distracted by his musing over the amount of potential pain left Bucky completely unprepared for Steve pinching the skin together. Bucky whimpered. The sound that crawled up out of his throat and died in his mouth couldn’t charitably be called anything else. 

“My hero” Steve said, not really teasing, and not slowing his movements. Bucky would have given up a number of things for a snappy retort, instead, he ground his teeth together at the pin prick and tugging sensation deplorably present at the base of his shoulder. 

“You would get stabbed though” Steve said, giving Bucky one thing to shift his attention to besides the hypersensitivity of his skin. “Completely within the realm of possibilities” 

“Look at where you live.” Steve continued, speaking loudly enough for Bucky to hear him, hushed enough not to wake the neighbors. “Where you work, even. People probably get mugged all the time.”

In, out went the needle, deftly maneuvered. Steve continued to talk, in that tone they’d perfected over the last year. Loud enough to cross the space between them without calling unwanted attention. 

“Nearly done” Steve said, “You’re fine, prefect, just have to tie this off…”

Scissors snipped, the thread was knotted without Bucky attending, relieved as he was Steve wasn’t prodding his aching shoulder with that damn needle anymore. 

“No work today” Steve said, stumbling over to drag the curtains shut against the sun peering between the buildings, tucking the sewing kit back under the table.   
Bucky mumbled something intelligible, burrowing among the thin sheets. Steve returned to the bed, sore but not overly worried about Bucky. He wasn’t going anywhere, he seemed calmer than before. Crawling in, Steve snuggled up to Bucky, glad to be home. 

Shifting around until they both found a position approximating comfort, they settled in together and promptly fell asleep. Bucky mostly on his stomach, good arm wrapped around Steve’s waist, head tucked in against Steve’s midsection. Steve curled into Bucky’s grip, on his back, chest rising and falling steadily among the mess of sheets and pillows.


End file.
